I Have A Recurring Fantasy That One

The Stories From Iran's Present And Past Are Reminders That Freedom, Democracy And Human Rights, Or Fundamentalism, Fascism And Terrorism Are Not Geographically And Culturally Determined, But Universal.

Only Curiosity About The Fate Of Others, The Ability To Put Ourselves In Their Shoes, And The Will To Enter Their World Through The Magic Of Imagination, Creates This Shock Of Recognition. Without This Empathy There Can Be No Genuine Dialogue, And We As Individuals And Nations Will Remain Isolated And Alien, Segregated And Fragmented.

She Was One Of Those People Who Are Irrevocably, Incurably Honest And Therefore Both Inflexible And Vulnerable At The Same Time.

In All Great Works Of Fiction, Regardless Of The Grim Reality They Present, There Is An Affirmation Of Life Against The Transience Of That Life, An Essential Defiance. This Affirmation Lies In The Way The Author Takes Control Of Reality By Retelling It In His Own Way, Thus Creating A New World. Every Great Work Of Art, I Would Declare Pompously, Is A Celebration, An Act Of Insubordination Against The Betrayals, Horrors And Infidelities Of Life. The Perfection And Beauty Of Form Rebels Against The Ugliness And Shabbiness Of The Subject Matter.

The Dearer A Book Was To My Heart, The More Battered And Bruised It Became.